


Playing With Fire

by cherryjam (blueskull)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Maids, Modern AU, Romance, Selectively Mute Main Character, except there's no wol, rating is for some mild spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskull/pseuds/cherryjam
Summary: A new maid at the Selch estate becomes far more entwined in her employer's life than she ever expected.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

She’s not really looking forward to this...arrangement.

But Arianna supposes there isn’t much else she can do. Not with their current situation...

On her own, she would probably be just fine -- but she’s _not_ on her own. So the fact of the matter is that she simply needs an extra avenue of income. Cleaning was something she could certainly do -- it had just been a matter of _where_.

She’d been a little shocked, truth be told, when she had received message back after contacting the email in the newspaper ad. She would have never expected the Selch estate to be interested in _her_ application, of all things, but perhaps there were not that many coming in. She’d been called in for a trial of sorts, and presumably she would be contacted again later that evening or tomorrow morning if her conduct was acceptable. So long as she didn’t have to _talk_ to anyone -- she thinks she can probably manage it.

She almost balks at the prospect of having to speak to someone at the gate, but Selch seems nothing if not accommodating; there’s a gentleman at the front who waves her over as she approaches.

“Are you Arianna Rowen?” he asks her, and she nods, pulling out her printed application and displaying it to him. Satisfied, the man shows her through the gate.

The walk to the large double doors is framed by a multitude of well-kept, pretty flowers and shrubs. And the door itself is ornate, impressive if not more than a little intimidating. With a mild, stiff smile, the man leads her into the bona fide mansion. Arianna finds herself on an ostentatious landing. There’s a large mirror, and a small desk with a few drawers, as well as a set of hangers for coats. Since she doesn’t have one today, she ignores them for now.

The white marble floors turn to dark carpets up the stairs. She’s lead up them, through an open area -- where the marble returns, but partially covered by a rug -- down a hall, where Arianna and her guide come to a small side-room.

“My name is Clover,” the man says after a moment. “There are a few uniforms you can choose from here. After you do so, I may show you to the rooms for your test.”

When he puts it that way, it sounds somewhat concerning -- 

But she gives a mild nod regardless, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. Within are numerous uniforms for her to peruse. Some of them are quite pretty, though others are somewhat of a...questionable nature. She, of course, picks the most modest one.

Clover is brisk, showing her to the rooms for her “tests”. His instructions, however, leave much to be desired. Most of the time, it’s simply something along the lines of _clean the room_ or _deal with the clothes_ , but little else to indicate any _catches_ that surely must exist if this is meant to be a “test”. Regardless, she’s good at doing what she’s told, in fact she prefers it because she doesn’t need to _think_ about it. Aside from the anxiety of it being a trial of some kind...this is fine.

In the evening after returning home, she receives a new email from her supposed employer. She’s been hired. The next morning, the ad in the newspaper is gone.

________ 

All in all, her job is not _necessarily_ difficult. She doesn’t work there everyday — perhaps the other days are facilitated by other maids? or he assumes there’s no need for a daily spritzing up? — bit when she does, it is far less...ridiculous than that _trial_. Which she supposes is the point.

What makes it easier is her penchant for drifting off. Arianna doesn’t hum or sing or speak to herself as she works; she’s utterly silent, perhaps even more so than if she were entirely present. Her eyes glaze over, lost in thought, moving on autopilot. She doesn’t miss much like this -- and if she does, it’s simply a matter of fixing it before she moves on to something else. She knows herself well enough to avoid anything unpleasant.

It’s several days — perhaps even a week — before she ever sees Emet Selch in the flesh. She’s enjoying a small lunch outside on the patio, listening to the birds, when he strides in from the gardens. She knows him only from a picture, but recognises him immediately.

Somewhat instinctively, she ducks her gaze away from him. She does not want to talk, or bother him, perhaps she shouldn’t even be here —

She misses his plate and glass until he sinks into a chair at another one of the small tables. Ah, perhaps she’d hoped he would simply leave without a word. But he is still here, even if he hasn’t said anything. Perhaps she shouldn’t be...

Fumbling with her small boxed lunch, she leaps to her feet, entire body tense as she prepares to slink away.

“Oh, I see how it is. You want to leave me all alone.”

Before she can, a voice — _his_ voice —

She nearly jumps out of her skin, stopping stock still. Indecision and trepidation fills her, unsure how to proceed.

Very slowly, she turns to see him looking at her calmly. She blinks at him, tilting her head uncertainly. Is he serious? Is he joking...? She can’t quite tell, and she decides she doesn’t really want to find out by vexing him. So after a moment’s hesitation, she takes her seat again and nervously pulls at the wrapping about her sandwich.

He _claps_ at her, his grin wry.

“Very good. I assume you’re miss Rowen, yes? Ah — I have your phone number from the application, I’ll just text you now...I’m afraid I don’t know sign.”

He taps at his phone upon the table. A few moments later, her own cellphone in her pocket gives a tiny buzz. Fishing it out, she sees a new message from an unknown number.

> _Nice uniform :’ )_

— Is all it says.

One of her eyes twitch.

“Did you get it?” he asks rather unhelpfully and sounding all too innocent. Pursing her lips, Arianna taps out a message in response.

> _Is this Emet Selch?_

That should be enough of a reply. And theoretically his phone should vibrate...if not, it might simply be a random spam text...

But his phone really does buzz in response to her query. She exhales quietly in relief as he gives a tiny laugh.

“Yes, it is me. Happy?”

\-- Is she?

> _Yes?_

She supposes answering otherwise might be bad...

“Oh, good. I hear you’re efficient. Even managed to clean up that mess in the office...you might be astounded to hear how many fail that test.” As he finishes, he finally takes a bite of his meal, which Arianna takes as a cue to start her own.

> _Thank you..._

Picking at her sandwich, she absently hopes that he won’t talk anymore. Her time is limited, after all, and she’d rather use it for eating. He seems to get the nonverbal hint. He finishes before her, and leaves with nothing more than a lackadaisical wave.

________ 

Her interactions with him are awkward at best, vaguely concerning at worst. Concerning not because she dislikes him or is especially _uncomfortable_ in any regard, but simply because she is not sure what to think of him. To be fair, this is her default opinion of many people. But he’s a little...different.

And not simply because she finds him at least somewhat intriguing.

Emet is only slightly intimidating on the off-chance that he does see her. He makes attempts to be polite, waits for her to respond, and generally isn’t bothersome aside from his growing attempts to poke at her. For whatever reason, he seems to find her reactions amusing.

She really wishes he wouldn’t.

On one of her breaks, she sits outside on the patio again, beneath one of the umbrellas for the shade, her book in her lap.

“Oh, good afternoon, miss Rowen.” She blinks in surprise, tilting her head up to look at him as he approaches with wide strides. He doesn’t wait for her to respond. “A quick question for you. Where did you find that book?”

The query catches her off-guard, and she furrows her eyebrows slightly. Is she not allowed to read...?

> _I brought it with me. It’s from home._

His eyebrows lift. “You brought it with you? Where did you keep it...? Your pocket?” His gaze drifts down to her apron, where there is indeed a pocket probably large enough to keep a book of average size there.

Arianna gives a slow nod.

The architect clicks his tongue. “You can just use the book room. Clover would have shown you where it was, right?” He taps his chin mildly. “Come to think of it, that was one of the ‘trials’ I gave you. To dust the bookshelves. Well, it’s at your leisure, if you would like. You aren’t the type to ruin books, after all.”

Her mouth opens, almost as if she wants to speak. In fact, she does.

She quickly shuts it, then shakes her head.

> _I couldn’t possibly. It’s not right. I couldn’t monopolise your things._

His laugh is short and sardonic as he reads the text message.

“You’re not monopolising it if I gave you permission, are you? Besides, it’ll be much more convenient than lugging a book around unnecessarily. I’m sure I have _something_ there that will amuse you. Or is that why you don’t want to? Because you think you won’t like anything? That’s such a shame...” He trails off, sounding all too dejected as he averts his gaze, shoulders hunching even further.

Arianna has the distinct impression he is merely playing with her.

But still. He has a point...it would be easier.

> _Okay. Thank you._

She upturns her face from her phone to give him a brief, awkward smile, before looking away just as quickly.

> _I appreciate it._

When she looks at him again, he seems oddly still, as if he’s been vacant the entire time she’s written her gratitude.Then he seems to recall himself, clears his throat, averts his gaze as he leans his weight on one leg.

“It’s nothing.”

________ 

“We’re having a guest today,” is the first thing Emet says upon seeing her. A vague part of her wonders about the usage of _we_ , but before she can ask, he’s continued barreling on. “I hope you won’t mind. He’s so dreadfully _boring_ , and I need the entertainment.”

She wonders, faintly, if that’s all that she is, _entertainment_ , but says nothing. He reaches one arm across her shoulders, pressing a palm to her shoulder blade and pulling her along with him. Despite her brief tensing at the initial touch, she has no real complaint.

“Do you know how to make tea?” he asks abruptly as he shows her into the currently empty lounge. “Specifically herbal ones. Or those fancy flowery ones. Carlin is quite fond of those.”

To say she’s a little surprised at the question is an understatement. How coincidental --

She helps -- and partially owns -- a small herbal shop with her parents. It doesn’t bring in much money...the reason for her having to take on this job. But if there is one thing Arianna knows how to make, it’s tea, and how to brew it depending on the components used.

> _Yes._

There’s a small amount of hesitation as she stares down at her phone screen.

“Really? Then -- ”

But even Emet pauses once he sees her writing something else.

> _I know about all sorts of teas, and herbs, and flowers._

His mouth curves sharply. “ _Really_ ,” he repeats. “How very confident. Then you’ll be perfect for impressing him. Or at least keeping him satisfied.” The architect’s shoulders sag as he sighs heavily. “Hopefully it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

He clicks his teeth, claps his hands together.

“Well, no matter. I trust you to help me -- sit a moment.” He sinks into one of the red, plush sofas that flank the low coffee table, and gestures to the seat next to him. She perches there nervously, hands clasped together, though she looks him in the eye, and he smirks again.

“As I’ve said, he enjoys his tea. And unfortunately I must keep _him_ entertained whilst being irrevocably bored...it’s for a business deal. I don’t think you’ll have to do much of anything other than serve tea and sit there looking pretty. Certainly don’t worry about talking to him. You’d find him boring, anyway.”

Absently, she wonders how he absolutely _knows_ she would be bored of the man’s company, but supposes it must mean that is just how dull Carlin is.

“Now,” the architect continues, brushing at a bit of imaginary lint on his knee, “I suppose I should have asked you earlier, but do you know of any teas that, mmm...promote a relaxed mind?”

Ah...perhaps Emet wishes to push this in his favour through the oh so magical assistance of herbs. She averts her gaze for a moment, considering the question. She taps the screen of her phone before she writes out a list for him.

> _Helichrysum, lavender, ginger, and chamomile._

Whilst it likely wouldn’t be the magic broth he was hoping for, it would help with things a bit. And at the very least it would taste nice, especially with some sweetness.

> _I would need a bit of time to prepare it._

The man smirks. “Then consider that your work for today. I shall arrange for the ingredients for you, and you can make that tea for me. And sit with me while I have to keep Carlin company and convince him to buy something from me.”

So, a sales call. She recalls his other request.

> _How am I supposed to keep you entertained?_

He shrugs. “I’ll finally have something nice to look at.”

Arianna tries to pretend no heat rises to her face. His comment had been too flippant to be serious.

True to his words, he has the ingredients she’d requested brought to her, and gives her free reign of the rather sizable kitchen to do what she needs. It’s nothing too complicated, but it’s good she has a few hours until the architect’s meeting.

Once the appointed time does roll around, she’s shown back to the lounge area, carrying a tray with two small teacups and a medium-sized kettle of her brew, as well as two small containers of sugar and honey. It’s not especially heavy, and she manages to place it upon the table without making a mess. She exhales a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

“Ah, excellent,” Emet begins, glancing toward her. “This is my maid, Arianna. She has some tea for us.”

She manages a vague smile in the other man -- Carlin’s -- direction. A dark-haired man dressed in a suit, like Emet, though perhaps not as well-fitted. His shirt rides up his wrists as he moves.

“Oh, a new one?” Carlin blinks at her with dark eyes. “I didn’t expect you to ever find someone else after the last made away with your watches.”

Emet’s laugh is sharp. “Not to worry, she’s not the thieving type...unless, I suppose, she’s after my heart. She’s quite adorable.”

At Arianna’s abject stare, he waves a hand plaintively. “It’s only a joke. Now, Carlin, how about you tell her how you like your tea? She doesn’t speak.”

“I was unaware you had such fancies, Selch.”

“What...? Oh, no, she genuinely cannot speak.” He sounds vaguely annoyed, a faint tapping of his foot that seems to indicate his patience thins. “How did you say you liked your tea sweetened again? I believe she’s brought us honey, and sugar.”

“And I was only joking as well.” Carlin glances toward her finally, and she cannot help but tense. “Sugar, please, two spoonfuls.”

The two men make lighthearted discussion as she pours and sweetens their teas (”Sugar for me, too, my dear,” Emet mutters distractedly). The aroma is pleasant and herby and earthy, makes her rather want a drink for herself. She places the first cup near their guest, then gives the second to Emet’s outstretched hands. When he sees her continue to stand near the table awkwardly, he gestures to the seat next to him.

“Well? Sit. If you like.”

Arianna feels equally as awkward sitting in their company, but he had asked initially, and so...she sits, apprehensive, hands clasped together.

“My, this is wonderful tea,” Carlin says abruptly, having sampled his beverage. “Where on earth did you buy it?”

“Arianna made it,” Emet says with a wide smirk. “I’d have to ask you to thank her.” His words sent another spike of anxiousness through her as she glances toward Carlin. The smile their guest gives her is warm.

“Thank you, miss Arianna. It truly is very nice.” She gives him a sickly smile and a vague nod-bow in return, her fingers curling tighter against each other. She’d daresay she might leave marks on her own skin. How she hates being put on the spot like this. “I might even have to steal her from you, Emet.”

“Oh, I think not.”

There’s laughter in the air, but she’s too caught up in her own head to notice the derision or iciness in it. Instead, she keeps her gaze trained steadily upon the table as she tries to imagine herself somewhere far away.

Perhaps it’s that desperate attempt at self-distraction that results in her downfall -- as she’s pouring Carlin’s second cup, her shaking hands spill the hot tea over the side of the cup, onto her other hand. The hot water touches to her fingers. Her jaw clenches as she drops the kettle; it clatters against the table but to her surprise does not break.

“Ah.” Emet makes a quiet sound; by reflex she glances at him as she clutches her hand. With a hurried, vague bow, she all but flies from the room, pain throbbing up her arm.

It shouldn’t be very bad, but it’ll get worse if she doesn’t get any water on it --

Hurrying into the nearest bathroom, she turns on the water and sticks her hand beneath the facet. The coldness is an immediate relief, but it can’t help with the incessant pounding in her chest and the guilt that settles upon her. She was supposed to be _helping_ him -- instead all she’s done is made herself a laughingstock.

When the pain finally fades after she pulls her hand away, she supposes...she should go back. But she’s taken so awfully long, she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d already finished, or if Emet’s already so displeased with her that he simply doesn’t wish to see her in there again, or if perhaps he’s fired her.

But she’ll never find out if she doesn’t go back...

So with much trepidation, she slinks back toward the lounge.

“Welcome back, Arianna.” Emet doesn’t sound cross in the slightest; he merely smiles and gestures toward a third cup that hadn’t been there before. “Sit. Your tea.” He pushes it along the table, toward her. Her blood pressure and adrenaline spike -- visualising the cup falling over and spilling all its contents -- and she quickly reaches out to grab it. Miraculously, it manages not to spill on its very short journey.

Confused, but not ungrateful, she slowly sinks back onto the couch, sipping at her drink.

Arrangements had gone well, even in her absence, and even at her return. Even halfway through her daydreams, she hears as Emet clinches his business deal with Carlin, apparently self-satisfied.

________ 

“Texting the boyfriend?”

His voice startles her, and she looks up from her phone, blinking owlishly at the architect as he, once again, sees fit to approach her on her break.

Harass? Annoy? Those don’t quite fit, she supposes.

She’s sitting on the sofa in the book room, the novel she’d been reading earlier abandoned on her lap. She’d gotten a sudden fit of inspiration and simply _had_ to write, a continuation for one of the stories on her laptop.

> _No...I don’t have one._

She’s not sure what prompts her to say this, but it feels important. She doesn’t have a _boyfriend_.

“No?” He sounds incredulous. “I find it hard to believe with how you were near-giggling at your screen.

\-- He seems quite pushy today. Vaguely, she wonders why. And why it should even matter.

> _I don’t._

She hesitates, before tapping another message to him.

> _I was just writing._

She’d hoped this would throw him off, but it seems to only pique his interest further.

“Writing?” He’s not invited, but he sits down next to her, anyway. Reflexively, she shifts so as to make her phone less easy to see. “Are you a writer, Arianna?” He leans into her personal space, one arm laxly upon the back of the couch behind her, though for some reason she does not find that she minds overmuch.

> _I’m not a writer. I just like writing._

“Doesn’t that precisely make you one?”

> _I’m not even published. I don’t think I ever will be._

He sighs loudly. “Why? Do you think your stories are bad?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I’m certain they aren’t. Besides, if you so enjoy writing them, then that certainly translates into your work. And others will be able to see it too, when they read. If you ever decide to publish.” His head tilts to the side as he regards her. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

To say she would have expected him to ever give her some sort of heart to heart...would be a lie. She stares at him for a few long moments after his short speech, silent even as he stands and brushes imaginary lint from his knee.

“Well, I won’t bother you anymore.” He pauses, opens his mouth as if he wants to say more, then shuts it. He snaps his fingers, points at her -- and then makes some sort of motion with his hand.

It takes a moment for her to realise that he’s just signed at her.

A simple sign, the sign for _good luck_ , but it takes her off guard simply because she would have never expected it from him, either. He doesn’t know sign language, after all. Which had to mean he had learnt...something, at least? Why...?

Why had he learnt it -- and such an oddly specific phrase such as that?

“What? Was my signing so good it leaves you completely speechless?” It seems her radio silence strikes a nerve -- his demanding voice catches at her. Is it just her, or can she detect the barest hint of concern in his voice?

Swallowing, she shakes her head, bringing her phone back to life as she hurries to reply to him.

> _~~No~~ Yes, your signing was good. You are good. Thank you._

He smirks at the message, and gives her nothing more than a casual wave as he walks off.


	2. Chapter 2

Her employer continues to sign at her more and more often, little words here and there that catch her off-guard. She can’t tell whether she’s touched or simply astounded each and every time. She’s -- never met someone else who would just make the effort to learn sign for her. Not that she meets many people on a familiar basis, but...

_She genuinely cannot speak._

She’d been too caught up in the moment to think it then, but she feels somewhat...guilty for what he had said. It’s true that Arianna does _not_ speak, but cannot...is not entirely true.

And more and more, lately, she finds herself _wishing_ to speak to him. Wishing that she had the courage to open her mouth and simply talk, as he does. And yet every time she considers it, she recalls what he had said, or he does one of his signs at her again, and she’s too overcome with emotion to try saying anything at all.

It’s probably somewhat sad that she’s closer to her employer than almost anyone else, to the point of desiring to let him hear her voice. But she would _like_ him to. Hear her.

But wouldn’t he be cross once he found out she’d lied? He might even ask her to leave. Who knows, perhaps he _prefers_ her not speaking, perhaps it makes things easier for him to fiddle with his phone whenever he’s around her...

At least even she can tell that thought is absurd.

But still. Knowing it doesn’t kill the thought.

Arianna can nevertheless not help the nervousness that rises up within her as she considers the idea. How would she even breach the subject? Just walk up to him and start talking? Should she text him first? Is this really something she should be thinking about so _much_? It probably is. But it should be so much simpler...

He’s not a friend of hers. So her thoughts are pointless. Perhaps it’s pointless to even...

“Arianna?”

She’s startled from her tumultuous thoughts by the voice of the very person she’d been thinking of. He peers at her over her shoulder, one hand raised in front of her as if he’d been waving it in her face. One eyebrow quirks. His champagne-coloured eyes seem amused.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you’d gone deaf, too.”

Oh. She must have spaced out as she was crossing the hallway. She...

Shaking her head, she quickly fishes out her phone. Pauses. She upturns her gaze to look at him again, blinking questioningly. Her fingers tighten their grip upon her cellphone, and she can’t help but avert her gaze before she tries.

“D-d-did you need some...thing...?” Her voice is so painfully quiet and soft that she cannot help but think he hadn’t heard her. Or maybe hope he hadn’t. This was an idiotic idea anyway, she should have never --

“Hmm? No, I just -- _what_?” But his voice rings out loud and clear as it always does -- at least initially. He sounds absolutely shocked. “Did you just _speak_?”

She taps her fingers on the phone and shuts her eyes as she tries to control the veritable maelstrom of emotions threatening to keel her over. “Y-yes...?” Oh, this was a mistake, a _mistake_ , she should have never --

“Then why didn’t you ever before?”

“Um....” _Finally_ , she manages to look at him -- but his bemused, astonished face is too much for her. She finds the words she’d wanted to say are lost.

> _I am sorry. I just am nervous about speaking around strangers._

He doesn’t reply, and it even seems to take him a while to look at his phone. She’s not sure because she’s not looking at him.

“So we’re not strangers, are we? Does that make us friends?”

That question had been ringing around in her own head, too, but -- did that mean he entertained similar thoughts? Shyly, she manages to glance at him again. He’s still looking at her, and his gaze holds hers.

“I-if you...want...?” she manages after a moment. She can’t just say yes -- she’s not sure if he’s simply being flippant or if this is something he’s genuinely serious about. She can’t read his expression.

His mouth curves. “Then perhaps we are.”

________ 

Emet isn’t often in the lounge when she goes in to clean it, but she at least isn’t surprised seeing him. There is, however, another man within the room...and she had not been informed prior they would have any visitors. He has light brown hair, tied into a short ponytail, and an easy, carefree smile. And he looks far too at home as he stretches out on Emet’s couch, seemingly without a care in the world.

Arianna turns slowly toward her employer, making a simple gesture in the man’s direction and blinking up at Emet. It’s a simple word, the word for _who_ , but she’s not certain he’ll get it. Thankfully, however, her non-verbal question seems to be completely understood.

“An annoyance,” is all Emet grumbles out. The man gives a loud guffaw, and Arianna’s pulse skyrockets as he swings himself over the back of the couch. Blessedly, he just barely manages to avoid smacking into one of the more expensive-looking vases on the table behind it.

“Is that really any way to treat your best friend?” the strange man asks, swinging an arm about Emet’s shoulders laxly. “I’m Hyth.” He directs a smile toward Arianna. “You are...?”

The question is somewhat surprising, though she fishes her phone out of her pocket regardless to type something up. Hyth must have made an inquiring gesture, since she hears Emet speak a moment later.

“She’s _mute_. She won’t talk to you, at any rate. Just wait.”

Hyth doesn’t seem to have a response -- at least not a verbal one. After a moment, Arianna finally holds her phone out for him to read, and he leans in.

> _My name is Arianna. It’s nice to meet you, Hyth._

“Arianna,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Right, he told me about you. It’s nice to meet you, too. Though I don’t want to exactly keep you from your duties, if I’m disturbing -- ”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Emet interrupts, waving a hand carelessly. “She doesn’t have much else to do today. I don’t mind. My friend should probably meet my other friend, anyway.”

A silence settles upon the room.

“A _friend_?” Hyth repeats in amazement. “You have a _friend_?” He smacks a hand to his chest. “You’re growing up, Emet. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Arianna has to lift a hand to touch her mouth, as if to stop the beginnings of a laugh from breaking through. She doesn’t notice the architect tilting his head at her.

“Hyth and I were about to get some lunch,” he addresses her, then pauses. “Would you like to come with us? You can change, of course. Perhaps you even should. If you’re going.”

He keeps shocking her. Perhaps she should just expect to be caught off-guard and not pay it any heed.

“You don’t have to.” Her silence is answered by a further assurance.

> _Would you really like me to come?_

The architect shrugs his shoulders. “I won’t answer that, if you’re trying to get me to _tell_ you to come. You have to decide that on your own.”

“Oh? Do you often tell her what to do, Emet?”

“You’re not helping.”

The exchange has Arianna fiddling with her phone uncertainly. Her green gaze flicks from her employer to his supposed best friend, and bites her lower lip hard before she looks back to her phone.

> _Then, I would like to go with you._

________ 

Their relationship (? is it one?) has felt more and more lax lately. She’s come to send him small snippets of her stories -- typically after he sends her a text complaining he’s _bored_. There are many of these.

He sends her many more texts in general lately, too. When he’s not at the house, he’ll find a way to talk to her regardless. Occasionally he chides her for responding when she theoretically shouldn’t even be on her phone -- but he’s never complained, past her initial fright that, maybe, he was serious and it was actually a test of some kind --

He just wants to talk. Which is fine. They are, Arianna supposes, friends, despite...everything.

Even in the evening, when she’s home, she’s taken to sending him a quick _good night_.

And he frequently complains of -- in his opinion -- nosy or irritating clients of his. She feels bad for occasionally laughing at what are most certainly not jokes, but she can’t help but find his typing amusing.

It’s rare for him to be around when she leaves for the night, but tonight she just so happens to bump into him as she exits the front door. Emet stops stock still.

“Oh? Going home?” Emet asks conversationally, not appearing to be in any sort of hurry. The air smells of cut grass and vaguely of his cologne.

“Yes. I -- I hope you had a good day,:” she says with a mild smile, brushing at a few strands of her dark hair on reflex.

“I suppose I did.” He seems to consider something. “I suppose I should praise you for all the work you’re doing for me.” There’s something vaguely awkward in his posture as he adjusts one of his cufflinks -- an ungainliness that swiftly disappears, replaced by an air of smugness. “Well, you’ve done a good job. You were a good girl today.”

She blinks rapidly in shock. It takes several seconds for what should be simply a flippant joke to sink in. It _is_ nothing more than a simple joke, at least to him. There’s nothing to the words.

Then why on earth do they set her whole body abuzz, her face burning up as if aflame?

Slapping her palms to her face, she reels away from him, trying very hard to rationalise the travesty that just occurred. Even Emet looks shocked, and she’s not sure whether she’s relieved or feels even more mortified by this fact. It was just -- he just...

Ah, there must be something wrong with her.

Thus, she does the only sensible thing in this situation.

That is to say, she all but flies across the pavement to put the estate and him far behind her.

________ 

She is convinced.

He’s trying to drive her insane.

Or maybe it’s simply her overactive imagination. That could be it, too.

But that is a rather hard assumption to make when he makes a comment that his lunch had been _good_ and says it in a very particular way as he waits for her reaction. What she hates most, however, is that a part of her is very _expectant_ for him to say...something else.

She absolutely hates it.

He’s never going to say that again, nor should she ever want him to. She doesn’t even understand why she reacted so ridiculously, nor why it should ever matter to her. It doesn’t and it won’t. It’s not...it doesn’t mean anything.

But she’d like for him to say it again. And she hates that part of her.

She’s lost in thought again today as she dusts at the books and shelves in the book room, occasionally fluffing out her duster when necessary. Her mind weaves a story she’ll want to write down as quickly as possible before she forgets, a tale about a girl stuck in a tower and the trials she goes through to escape.

“ _Good girl_.”

 _That_ silky voice is most definitely _not_ a part of her daydream.

Reeling back into the world of the living, she sucks in a sharp inhalation of breath, dropping the duster in her hand as she whirls to stare up at the man who had snuck up behind her.

He smirks as if he’d just won something, touches her rapidly flushing cheek with his fingers, then his entire palm. “How adorable. I _knew_ you liked it.” His smugness only makes her more and more flustered as she attempts to regain her bearings. Though the moment she _thinks_ she does, she loses them immediately when he cups her other cheek, too, and leans in to kiss her.

Her hands jump to his chest, though she doesn’t push him away. Instead, her fingers curve into his shirt; he pulls away momentarily, only to chase her with another, deeper kiss that has her mind spinning.

________

Later, when they’re tangled together in his silk sheets, Arianna stares at the ceiling as arguably rational thought returns to her.

Ah...she really is an easy lay, isn’t she. Just say the magic words and she’d hop right off into bed...

What should probably be an at least somewhat pleasant moment is summarily ruined by her twisting anxiety and self-disgust. She’s beginning to feel ill, like she wants to vomit.

Inhaling a shaky gasp, she moves to slide herself off of the bed. Emet snatches at her, pulling her back to blink up at her with a vaguely annoyed gaze.

“Where are you going?” he asks, narrowing golden eyes.

“I — ah...t-that is...” She has no idea how to answer him. Where _is_ she going? Fumbling blankly, she trips over an explanation. “B-back to work...?”

It’s, at least, a somewhat better answer than simply _leaving_.

He gives her a slow, exceptionally expressive blink. He’s clearly unimpressed by her response.

“Why...? Hmm — that reminds me...your job is to clean, yes...?”

Now it’s her turn to give him a blank blink. “Y-yes?”

The bemused expression turns sharp, his mouth curving. His gaze rakes down her body, and she suddenly remembers she’s very much unclothed. “Then clean _me_ instead.”

The disgust and unease dissipate all at once to be replaced by pure bewilderment, and for one confusing moment she’s left wondering if this was possibly at all on purpose. Shaking her head, she averts her gaze as a deep flush crosses her features.

“Th-that is — I — I-I’ll get a b-bath running, then...”

“Oh, really?” he purrs from his languid pose upon the bed. “That sounds _wonderful_.” He finally lets go of her, calmly folding his arms beneath his head. As he all but leers at her, she’s abruptly reminded of the fact that not only is she naked but she’s also offered to walk across to the restroom —

“S-stop looking at me,” she stammers, instinctively drawing her arms over her chest. “Please.” Added, after a moment’s thought.

“But there’s so _much_ to look at.” Despite his statement, Emet doesn’t protest; instead, he rolls onto his side to face his back toward her.

She’s left to strew in thoughts of bewilderment and confusion as she stumbles into the bathroom, a bathrobe he’d told her she could borrow for the moment tossed over her shoulders. She’s been in here before — having cleaned it up — so it’s easy enough to find what she needs to get the bathtub in a state suitable for...bathing.

The architect is dosing when she goes to inform him the restroom is ready.

“Oh, good.” His voice is vaguely husky from sleep. “We can take a bath.”

The word gives her pause. “‘We’...?” she repeats uncertainly, sure she’d misheard or that he had misspoke.

“Yes,” he says pleasantly, flashing her a smile as he pushes himself off the bed. Arianna looks away discreetly, brushing her fingers through a few strands of her dark hair. Apparently he sees no need for a robe for himself. “There’s room enough for two, I should think.”

She almost gives in to the urge to look at him again, if only because for some reason she can’t quite tell if he’s playing with her or not.

“Oh, and,” he continues, snapping his fingers, “you don’t work here anymore.”

All at once, the feelings from earlier come crashing down on her. “Ah...” She feels sick. Of course she’d been right. Nothing more than —

“I can’t have my sweetheart working as a servant girl, can I?” One of his hands comes up to hook beneath her chin, pulling her to look up at him. She momentarily finds herself unable to breathe, mind similarly blank. The smirk he gives her feels vaguely fond. “Oh, but don’t worry. If you still want to be my maid that badly, we can always play in bed~.”

More than the burning sensation to her cheeks, she feels like she’s about to get whiplash. Pulling away from him, she slaps her hands to her face.

“Wh-wh-what are you...?” She stumbles uselessly over her words, not even sure what she wants to ask him. And she absolutely _hates_ the tiny glimmer of hope that dares to peek its way out even as he laughs at her. “A-are you playing with me?” she finally manages to ask, simultaneously dreading and wanting the answer.

“Why on earth would I be playing with you right now?” Emet scoffs lightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was annoyed. “You may be adorable like this, but I think I’m not _that_ cruel. I’m completely, utterly serious.” There’s a moment of silence, wherein she dares to look up at him again. It’s only then that he continues. “Well, if you want me to be serious, that is. If I was mistaken in my assumption you were _interested_ in me in that way, I’d be ha — mm, that would be a lie, actually. Either way, if that turns out to be the case, we can put this behind us. Figuratively, and literally.” The man exhales a heavy sigh, as if the speech had exhausted him more so than any other activities they’d done together. “So? What is your answer, my dear?”

“I — ”

Just a few minutes ago, she’d thought he had seen her as nothing more than a quick bit of amusement. Perhaps, at the back of her mind, Arianna still thought that, but for the moment such assumptions were thrown to the wayside by the veritable roller coaster she’d just been on. — Though really, perhaps that was part of why she, unfortunately, liked him. Even as simply an employer...

But he wants her answer — as to whether they’re something more than that. Properly, not simply some sort of tryst.

Of course they’re not. She never wanted them to be something like that in the first place. And, maybe, neither did he?

Oh, but the thought of having to actually put that all into words...perhaps it makes her feel even more ill than just a few short minutes ago when she’d been convinced he merely saw her as a toy...

Biting her lower lip hard, the hyuran woman slowly lowers her hands from her face, tilting her head up to look at him once more. He’s simply...looking back at her, calmly. For once, there’s no smirk upon his face, nor any sort of trace of irony. He’s just...waiting.

Which only makes her remember that he expects her to speak...

“Ah...w-well...” Averting her gaze yet another time, she fidgets with the folds of the robe, trying to concentrate on the texture. Perhaps thinking of anything else will help her ground herself. Just. Anything.

Anything aside from what he’s asking her to say.

Swallowing nervously, she summons the courage to look up at him again. He’s calm, completely unobtrusive — he doesn’t even try to lean into her personal space. He’s just...waiting.

“Um, I...” She starts, trails off nervously, and finds herself looking away again. “You’re not — you’re not...wrong...” It’s somehow easier to speak when she’s not looking at him. “I am...i-inter...ested...” And her voice grows quieter and quieter with each syllable, until it dissipates entirely. She touches anxiously at her hair as she waits with bated breath for him to do...anything.

He gives a soft exhalation that seems a little like relief, his shoulders sagging. Perhaps he’d been holding his breath, too --

“Wonderful.” He sounds just a little tired. “In that case...” He clears his throat, putting a hand lightly upon her shoulder to coax her to look at him. Is it just her imagination or -- “ _Would_ you like to bathe with me...? I know I said ‘we’ would, but if you’d rather not, you can, of course, stay...here, if you like.”

Another question that has her reeling at the implications of answering it, and another moment he is, for once, _not_ trying to get her to blush -- she’s doing that all on her own just fine.

This doesn’t take nearly that much long to think about, either.

“I-I...wouldn’t...mind...”

“Oh...” She can’t tell if he’s surprised or simply pleased. “Well then.” This time Emet _does_ smirk, though there’s less of a bite to it than usual. He slides his arm about her shoulders and herds her along with him toward the bathroom, though he stops right outside the door. “That reminds me. There’s a gala in about...a week. Hyth’s thing -- he likes art. I wanted to ask if you’d come with me? As my _date_.”

The question gives her pause, looking up at him in bemusement. “I don’t think -- I’d really have anything to wear...? To something like...that, anyway...”

“It’s no matter.” He waves his other hand carelessly. “I can arrange for something. So. Will you come with me? There will...be a lot of people, unfortunately, but it’s not as if you have to talk to any of them. I’d simply enjoy your company, is all.” He looks as if he’s about to say more, though for some reason he seems to think better of it and bites his tongue.

“Then I -- then I don’t mind. I-I’d like to go with you.”

To her surprise, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her temple that has scarlet creeping up her face.

“Thank you, my dear.”


	3. Chapter 3

There’s many... _changes_ leading up to the gala. For starters, Emet weasels his way into meeting her parents...an appointment she isn’t sure she’s looking forward to or dreading. She at least hopes her parents _approve_...she still isn’t quite sure how to explain her current situation to them --

He doesn’t want her to clean or do any chores like she used to, other than, perhaps, cook, “if she’d like”. And, of course, he still requests she come around just as much, except this time to make herself at home.

“How refreshing to see you out of that uniform,” he muses aloud upon first seeing her in something else. “Though I think you’d look even better with that on my floor~.”

She’s not sure whether it’s good or not that she’s learning not to be taken so off-guard by such flippant comments.

He’s even hired a new maid, someone other than her, to wander around the place and clean up, just as she had. She doesn’t know much about the other hyuran woman; only that she seems about the same age, has brown hair reminiscent of Hyth’s, and doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by showing skin as Arianna is.

The woman, Alice, drags a vacuum down the hallway, visible and audible from Arianna’s perch in the book room. Her green eyes slide up from her novel to watch the woman absentmindedly.

And it makes her wonder -- was Emet only interested in her because she was a maid? There _were_ some men like that, weren’t there? Interested in maids because of the thrill of some easily accessible fun. Something she’d given him so very easily.

Was it because she’d wandered into bed with him like some cheap --

“ _Darling_.” Emet’s voice cuts through her thoughts like a knife. On autopilot, she reflexively smacks her book shut, somehow managing to not jump in her seat. He circles around the sofa to peer down at her curiously. One eyebrow quirks. “Something wrong?”

“I-I -- um -- ” Her green eyes flick from him, to Alice, moving her vacuuming to another room. “Nothing...”

“Hmm.” All he gives her for the moment is a quiet hum. She’s not sure he’s convinced. But he doesn’t ask. Instead, he pulls a nondescript white box out from one of his coat pockets. “Here. I got you something, for tonight.”

“Wha -- ” She stares at him for a moment in shock, her gaze flicking from the box, to his face, and back again. He looks entirely too pleased with himself. “For me...?”

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” His lips quirk. “Are you going to take it, or shall I open it for you?”

She’s still shell-shocked, but before she can think better of it, she’s pushed the book off her lap and taken the box from him. Opening it reveals -- a delicate hair ornament. It’s a composition of small blue flowers and blue butterflies, some connected by fragile-looking chains of silver and gold, some links hanging down to lie within one’s hair while it’s worn. It’s one of -- perhaps _the_ most pretty piece of jewelry she’s ever seen. Her brows furrow in vague concern, and she opens her mouth, about to speak; however, he shakes a finger in front of her face before she can do so.

“ _Please_ don’t ask me if it’s for you again,” he says, looking somewhat amused. “It is, entirely, for you, my dear. I do hope you like it. I saw it the other day, and -- it reminded me of you.”

Swallowing, Arianna clicks her mouth shut, turning the hairpiece over gently in her hands. She’s almost afraid to touch it too much lest she break it.

“Th-thank you -- it’s beautiful, but I -- can’t wear something l-like this...”

How much had it cost him? It looks _expensive_ , and if he puts his mind to something, he isn’t the sort to do things in halves.

“Nonsense. You have hair, don’t you?” Emet reaches to lightly brush fingers through a curled strand. “Of course you can wear it.”

She bites her lower lip. “Y-you know what I mean...”

“I’m afraid not.”

Ah. He’s being stubborn, then.

Well, she supposes, so is she.

Swallowing, she gently places it back into its box. “I-it’s truly -- very beautiful -- thank you, Emet...” Putting the box onto the book beside her, she slowly stands up, brushing her hands nervously through her hair.

“You’re very welcome. I’m gla -- ”

For once, _she_ surprises _him_ when she musters the courage to lean up and give him a kiss on the cheek. Just before she glances away out of embarrassment, she’s able to see a pale hint of redness to his cheeks. Instead of responding, the man looks away, clearing his throat.

She’s at least glad he can lose his words, too -- 

“Now, ah, how about you go pick out a dress? I brought a few back for you.” But he’s far quicker at regaining his composure...so it seems. “I have a few other things I need to take care of before we go. Like the car, for instance.” He clears his throat, touching lightly at her hair again, before turning away. “Oh” -- he pauses just through the doorway -- “and I asked Alice to help you with your makeup. Do you mind?”

Ah --

If she’d used much makeup at all, she would have said “yes”...after all, simply because he had never seen her wearing it to work didn’t mean she didn’t wear it at all...

But he hadn’t been wrong in assuming (had he? or -- ) that she doesn’t wear it typically. So she simply shakes her head mutely.

“Excellent. Then you can talk to her after you’ve finished choosing something -- or tell me, and I’ll send her to you.”

________ 

In -- his bedroom? their bedroom...? Either way, that is where she finds several dresses arranged on a rack. Whatever likes to make its way out of his mouth when he talks, he’s certainly aware of her preferences. All the dresses are modestly cut and not _overly_ flashy -- apart from one, though even this one she looks through. It’s _pretty_ , even if not something she would choose to wear. In the end she picks out a blue somewhat shimmery dress, held up by straps, to match the hairpiece he’d given her.

She’s not really sure how she feels -- about the idea of Alice being in this room...there’s simply something about it that just rubs her the wrong way. As if anyone could simply go to his room and do what they had done...

Is that really how it is...?

No, he’d -- gotten these pretty things for her, surely that has to mean something.

Alice knocks on the door before entering, smiling at her as she brings in a small box of what is doubtless makeup supplies. Oh, no, this is going to be awkward...

She’s already finding herself wishing Emet were here to gab on and on about _something_ , at least that would make her feel like she’s not being _boring_ or intrusive.

“I’m here to do your makeup!” the other hyuran woman announces. “Take a seat.” There’s only one chair at the desk, so Arianna feels strange sitting there while the other woman stands, but she supposes there’s nothing else she can do about it --

Giving a quiet nod and a smile, she sits down as asked, and Alice stares at her face for a minute before rummaging through her tools. Then, seemingly satisfied with the arsenal she’s picked out, she starts to paint Arianna’s face with them.

A tiny part of her wonders if she’ll make her look like a clown. Or if the colours she’s picked are truly suitable to her and her dress -- covered by a small rectangle of dark fabric the woman had brought with her. But _Emet_ had trusted this woman’s judgement, of all things, so...she supposes she must know what she’s doing.

Unless this is all some elaborate plan to make her look like a clown...

That ornament had been so very pretty, though.

“You and Mr. Selch make a very nice couple,” Alice says a few minutes into applying the colours to her face. The sudden comment -- combined with the amiability with which she says it -- takes the dark-haired woman completely by surprise. Her eyes widen as she stares at the woman calmly brushing rouge onto her cheekbones. She has -- no idea what to do -- and it’s not as if she can talk, she -- 

Does she really think so...?

Nervously, she tries to smile, and nod her head faintly in response -- this only has the other hyur clicking her tongue.

“Don’t move when I’m putting your makeup on, okay? Not even to smile.”

She has to resist the urge to nod her head again. Instead, she curls her fingers together in her lap as her face heats up in embarrassment. The minutes tick by as the woman continues her work, Arianna’s attempts to occupy herself with daydreams proving fruitless because all she can think about is what Alice had said.

“There! We’re all done,” the woman announces as she clicks a pen shut. “Take a look. Do you like it?”

She feels somewhat apprehensive to look in the mirror, but she steels her nerves and does so anyway. What she sees there leaves her momentarily blank.

She looks -- _pretty_. And not outrageous or overstated at all...

She _likes_ it.

Blinking -- and trying very hard to stop the ridiculous urge to cry -- she looks toward Alice again, smiling fervently in a way that she hopes conveys her appreciation. Right -- her phone -- quickly getting it, she writes a note, holding it out for the woman to look at. Alice beams at her.

“I’m glad you like it! I was a little worried since you don’t talk, but you’re actually really nice!” The compliment is somewhat backhanded, but she bulldozes on. “I’m sure Mr. Selch will love it! He asked me to take you down to the entrance when you’re ready.”

________ 

He is, indeed, waiting for them, in a freshly ironed and crisp pinstriped suit. The sight sends mild heat to her cheeks, and Arianna brushes nervously at her loose hair as she approaches.

For a moment, it feels like Alice might as well not be there. He seems to drink her in, admiring her in the dress she’d picked and the makeup she wore for this event.

“You look lovely,” he says after a moment, as if just remembering his voice. “But there’s one more thing...”

“Th -- ” Arianna starts, then stops, remembering Alice -- but when she looks around, the maid is nowhere to be found. When had she left? “Th...the...the hairpin?” she continues uncertainly, turning slowly in a circle before coming to face the man again.

He seems somewhat amused by the display. “I brought it.” He shows her the box on the small desk near the door.

After a moment’s hesitation, she trots over to pick it up, gently pulling the ornament out, before peering into the mirror to begin trying to put it on. However, he steps beside her, stopping her.

“Let me put it on for you.” Carefully taking it from her hands, Emet brushes her dark wavy hair away from her face as he fastens the pin to her hair. This accomplished, he takes her chin in his hand to tip her head up and to the side, narrowing his eyes as he gazes down at her. She can feel a flush rising to her cheeks -- can he see it with the makeup on? -- at this inspection, a strange fluttery sensation that has her unable to breathe as her mouth twists indecisively.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Emet says with a smirk in a way that makes her wonder if he’s referring to her or the hairpiece. But she’s momentarily lost her words and simply self-consciously touches at her cheek once he finally lets her go, though not without a chaste kiss. “Are you ready to go?” he asks calmly, holding out a hand toward her. With a shy nod, she takes it gently.

________

The limo ride to the party is airy and light. Emet talks, as he likes to, explaining the history or some such behind the gala, reminiscing about previous events -- and it’s genuinely interesting, hearing about the other interesting people he’s met.

She doesn’t even stop to think about how, perhaps, she is certainly not one of them. That’s how _relaxed_ she is.

Ah, but, the moment he pulls her out of the car, his fingers closed firmly about her hand, and the tinted windows are no longer enough to dull the scene outside...

The house -- or mansion? -- all but nearly _bursts_ with light. She might nearly mistake the evening for day with how brightly lit its decorations pulse. And the other people...

Even in her pretty blue dress and heels and the butterflies in her hair and the necklace of blue gems at her neck, Arianna starts to wonder if she’s underdressed. Surely she doesn’t look like any of them. Not even slightly comparable. And there’s so many _people_ , and they’re just outside...

“You look _beautiful_ ,” Emet assures her, squeezing her hand lightly to call her attention to him. “They’ll be so _jealous_ when they see you with me.” He sounds more than slightly pleased at the thought -- perhaps even smug -- as he tugs her along after him, past the small tables and dining guests. She tries very hard not to think about them, of about how they might be looking at her --

But, she thinks blankly, as Emet stops to talk to yet another person Arianna can almost not quite bring herself to look at, she realises...these people don’t know anything about her. Just like she doesn’t know anything about them...

Perhaps that’s a good thing. There’s no reason for them to assume anything about her...just like she can’t really assume -- or shouldn’t -- anything about them...

The thought is enough to calm her, somewhat.

The inside of the house is, paradoxically, darker than the outside; most of the lights seem to be reserved for the pieces of art on display.

_Hyth has always liked art. Especially statues. He loves those -- so much that he demands artists display their works at his house. It’s a win-win, he says; advertisement, and he gets to oogle them._

There’s certainly a _lot_ of statues. And paintings. Emet walks with her along most of them, murmuring facts about the artists in her ear, or critiquing those pieces he seems to have a distaste for or amusement in. No one attempts to talk to them, thankfully, and pressed to the architect’s side like this, she can almost imagine they’re all by themselves together.

Before long, they’ve wandered off to take a break at the tables -- a drink and a respite. There’s others here, too, and the fact they’re all merely _standing around_ makes Arianna more anxious -- or dreadful of -- potential small talk. Emet engages one blonde woman before she can speak to him, and absentmindedly she tunes out their conversation in an attempt to gain a bearing on herself.

_Carlin..._

Wait, where had she heard that name before...?

Almost as if some completely hilarious twist of fate, a man catches Arianna’s eye. She notes a glimmer of recognition in his eyes that sends a sickly feeling into her stomach. Carlin -- _Carlin_ , this is the man that had visited Emet’s estate before. The woman...his wife...?

“You’re the servant girl at Selch’s estate,” Carlin says, just as she turns her face away. He speaks before she can attempt to remove herself from the situation.

“ _Was_ a servant girl,” Emet chimes in helpfully, snatching two champagne glasses from a passing waiter; he hands one to Arianna, who takes it mutely. “As you can see, I’ve brought her here as my date.” He sips at his drink. Arianna _tries_ to, but for some reason the ill feeling grows too strong to be able to concentrate, much less think about sampling the flavour.

“I didn’t take you as one to fall for a gold digger, Emet.”

Ah — there it is. Whatever else Carlin says is drowned out by the roar crashing through her ears. She wants to vomit. She knew it was wrong to come here — to have ever entertained such thoughts at all. Carlin is right — she would have never been here, would never have even looked upon this dress or her hair ornament were it not for Emet. The butterflies feel heavy and bulky fastened in her hair now — her head feels _so heavy_. She would have ripped the accessory off were it not for the drink flute still clutched in her trembling hands.

Her eyes fill with tears, and she quickly looks away, staring firmly at the floor as she attempts to walk off. There’s no point in being here anymore. She doesn’t care where she goes so long as it’s somewhere far, _far_ away —

But she can’t. Leave. Because for some reason, Emet takes it upon himself to keep her there. His grip upon her upper arm is firm as she’s pulled back next to him. She stumbles in her stupid heels and stares blankly at the crisp lines of his stupid suit. The drink sloshes up the glass walls and drips against her fingers. Shame and embarrassment collide with anger — just what is he doing? Does he want to humiliate her, too? Her throat closes up — even if she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to tell him off. At least not here. There’s nothing she can do. She’s just a useless gold digger, she wouldn’t have a thing right now if it weren’t for his help —

All at once, the sound of snapping fingers cuts through the noise in her head. All thoughts — stop.

“Oh, I remember now. It was, mm, a week ago I saw you last? Walking out of an _exceptionally_ saucy club, if I must say so myself, a pretty little thing hanging off of your arm. Did you tell your wife about the lovely time you had at the hotel? Crystarium Nights, I believe it was...room 203. That hotel is mine, were you aware? — Oh, my apologies, she _does_ know about this, doesn’t she? It would be _quite awkward_ if she didn’t.”

It’s like he’s speaking in alien tongues. Arianna can’t quite understand or comprehend what he’s saying — none of it makes any sense to her. But Carlin’s face is ashen white, his wife’s slowly turning a furious shade of red bordering on purple.

“I also distinctly recall seeing you at the firm the other day,” Emet continues without missing a beat, his thumb rubbing smooth lines up and down the inside of Arianna’s arm. “If my ears don’t deceive me — and they don’t, I assure you — I remember you bringing up bankruptcy. Do you really have the money to be throwing around at places like this? Just one of these drinks must be a fortune to you. Your wife knows about that too, right? Don’t you, Rosa?”

Despite the devastating things he’s saying, Emet appears utterly nonchalant, taking another sip of his champagne. There’s a malicious, sharp curve to his lips as he stares at the two of them. Rosa Carlin glowers at her husband, her hold upon her own glass of wine white-knuckled.

“Is what he said true?” she demands, her blue eyes narrowing. All the man can do is sputter wordlessly for a moment -- she spills the rest of her drink down his front and walks off angrily.

Carlin stares off in the direction his wife left, then looks toward Emet and Arianna. His mouth opens, shuts, as if he wants to speak, though no words come out. There’s probably nothing he _can_ say. Arianna’s own mind is still blank.

“Perhaps think before you speak next time, Carlin. You should know better than to yap when you have nothing to prove. Now...your very presence irritates me. Go stand slack-jawed elsewhere, would you?” With this final, utter dismissal, the architect finally turns all attention away from the gawping, soaked man. Sighing loudly, Emet uses his grip upon her to tug her toward the mostly empty table where he finally takes a seat. 

“How exhausting...” He tilts his head to look at her oddly, in a way that makes her heart do weird flips in her chest. He puts his glass away, then lifts his free hand to touch upon her face; he lightly wipes away the tears she hadn’t even realised were there. Then he lets go of her entirely.

For some reason, that merely makes the lump in her throat grow.

He had -- very soundly told that man off...for her...? She can’t really think of any other reason for the tirade, except perhaps that he simply hadn’t been fond of Carlin...

Swallowing, the black-haired woman places her glass upon the table next to his. Gently, she takes one of his hands in both of hers. He looks up at her in what seems like surprise, peering at her through his fringe of white hair. With a faint, indecisive smile, Arianna shuffles closer to him and leans in; he leans toward her in return as she hovers her lips close to his ear.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she manages to whisper in the quietest of tones.

For the moment, he does nothing but give a mild hum in response. Tugging gently, he tests her responsiveness before pulling her about him to sit on his lap. She perches somewhat warily on his knee, smoothing her skirt as he shifts positions to draw both his arms about her and rest his cheek on her shoulder. Normally something she wouldn’t -- even consider doing in public, strangely it makes her feel quite...content.

“Well, you are _my_ good girl, aren’t you?” The abrupt murmur has her heart flipping yet again, though somehow the way he says it has her feeling weirdly warm and full of clouds. She lets him pull her even closer, leaning against him as she tries to pretend no one else is there.

Another sharp exhalation leaves the man as his arms tighten about her. “You don’t mind me taking a power nap, do you? Of course you don’t.”

“Going to sleep again?” Hyth’s laughing voice assails them as he strides past in an apparent hurry. “An insult that bruises straight to my very soul.” There’s no malice behind the words; in fact he seems to find this downright hilarious.

“Your party is boring,” Emet growls without even opening his eyes.

Arianna feels her lips curving in fondness; she runs her fingers through his hair gently as he settles again. Then she ducks her head to whisper to him once more.

“Don’t you want to leave, then...?”

This time, he _does_ open his eyes — though only, it seems, to be able to grab a hold of one of her hands and play absentmindedly with her fingers.

“Hmm. I’d hoped to dance with you later, if you didn’t mind.” For some reason, he averts his gaze. She isn’t entirely sure in this lighting, but she thinks she can see the barest tinge of redness rising to his face. “Do you?”

For one who simply assumes or does what he wants either way, the question has her feeling oddly light. Smiling gently, she gives him a soft shake of her head.

“Truly?”

She nods, this time.

He’s silent for a moment, then smiles fondly at her.

“Then I suppose I shall have to make the most of my energy.” The smile turns into a wicked smirk. “Hyth’s favourite dance is salsa.”

When the comprehension dawns to her face, quickly followed by concern, he huffs a laugh.

“I’m only joking. You wouldn’t like a fast dance, I’m sure.”

With another final sigh, he presses his face back to her shoulder and holds her ever closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now has an [optional NSFW sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242806).


End file.
